In another dramatic step away from babyhood, Lukey has shed his fuzzy baby hair, experiencing an instant metamorphosis into boyhood. On a semi-whim, I took scissors to Lukey's baby curls. I had heard enough teasing about his "wings" over his ears and then the lady at the local fruit and vegetable shop asked me how old my little girl was (although I maintain that was really pretty thick because there isn't anything feminine about him, plus he was wearing very boyish clothing at the time, so I mean, really...). But a haircut really does affect an instant change. He immediately looked older and more mature. He seemed very into the whole process, waiting patiently and tilting his head the way I asked.
Until he was bored. Then it was over. The whole impromptu haircut plan quickly fell apart when he took off upstairs.
I became an impatient, scissor-wielding pursuer, chasing him down to "even it up". He bolted around the house, half baby half boy. I was chopping off hunks of hair on the fly. Eventually, we got it sorted out. My new rule : if you can't sit still long enough to get a haircut, you might not be old enough to get a haircut.